


the ice cream social

by darwinsdonut



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergent, Like really angsty, Red Team Fic, Subtle Hints of Pastry Train, i'm sorry i don't know why i wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 00:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15919152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darwinsdonut/pseuds/darwinsdonut
Summary: "Hurry up, ladies- this ain't no ice cream social!"It's finally time for the big ice cream social, and Sarge doesn't much feel like celebrating.





	the ice cream social

_"Hurry up, ladies- this ain't no ice cream social!"_

Back in Blood Gulch, they hadn't had _time_ for ice cream socials. They'd had duty. Work to do. Blues to fight. A base to protect. And no ice cream. Grif had been fat and lazy and didn't deserve an ice cream social anyhow. Simmons had been a kiss-ass but at least he was an obedient one. Deserved about a scoop of ice cream. Now they had an ice cream social. 

Sarge wasn't feelin' so social tonight. 

Sarge sat with his back to the wall in a big room of people celebrating. _War's over, we won! Turns out you're the big hero, and we're gonna hold a parade in your honor._ Sarge drank more of the whiskey in his hand. Dr. Grey had been by earlier, all beauty and purple evening gown, with her usual mirth and intelligence, and a touch of wisdom in her dark eyes, full of concern. Told him he probably shouldn't drink so much. 

He poured another glass of whiskey. 

That Washington fella's image kept displaying. Felt like he got more recognition in the slideshow up on the wall than anyone else from that last mission. Sarge didn't have any problems with Washington- Washington was capable and deserved it- he just wished... Well, might be nice to see more recognition for the underdogs. 

Grif had fought hard. Simmons had fought hard. If not for Grif coming through with that last twist with the warthog, Simmons on gunnery taking charge, they wouldn't'a won at all. Sure, Washington took out the big guy, and Tucker did some dance with his sword- but Grif and Simmons deserved recognition. 

Sarge knew Lopez sat a few tables over with an unopened beer and kept an eye on him. He knew Donut had left two days ago, decided he couldn't stick around for this, wanted to go home. Gave Sarge a big hug. Donut could never make Sarge cry, but that day Sarge got a little misty. Something in his big ol' chest just caved in. That special effect Donut had of makin' you feel all warm and cared about, knowin' that no matter how bad you treated him he'd still be there for you. Good man, Private Donut. Sarge hoped wherever he went next he'd be happy. Find him a real home, a good man to settle down with. Something better than what he'd been through. 

Tucker was also in the room somewhere. Beyond all the celebrating bodies, on the far side of the mass, if Sarge had to guess. Probably half-dead of alcohol poisoning in a metal folding chair, if he was still going at the same rate as when Sarge last saw him. Maybe that's where Grey was. Sarge kinda hoped so. 

Caboose took everything coming to an end better than anyone. 

He wanted to leave with Donut, but then left early, and Caboose wanted to stay for the ice cream social that had become more of a whiskey-and-dancing event. Caboose was probably somewhere here eating chocolate ice cream and makin' friends with strangers. Sarge hoped that whatever happened to Caboose next, he had lots of friends, and didn't lose any of 'em. 

Sarge couldn't take the room anymore. 

It was stifling hot, war was over, and he didn't feel like talking to anyone else. He rose from his chair and parted the crowd, hearing mutters of _that's the red sergeant! He led the charge!_ as he passed through. Sure, he did. Orchestrated the whole damn thing. A sting of bitterness rose hot in his chest. He damn sure did. 

Passed through the doors and into a crisp night. Breath puffed out in front of his face and he missed his helmet. No need for it now. There'd always be a need for fighting- some enemy, renegades or outlaws or space pirates. But no need for _Sarge_ to be the one fighting. 

He looked up at the moon, Earth's own Luna hanging up above him like an old friend, and heard the distant chatter of the party. He ground his jaw and his eyes burned and chest twisted from the bitterness. 

_This ain't no ice cream social._

He'd always been hard on Grif. Always been too hard. Grif was lazy and sarcastic and everything Sarge didn't want in a soldier. Grif was resourceful and cared too deeply and took risks and stepped up when it came down to it. Grif was a goddamn hero. 

Something cracked in Sarge's chest. 

And Simmons- Simmons had been like a son to him. Sarge didn't say it soon enough. He knew Simmons needed a father figure, knew if he went easy on him he'd just make the boy's perfectionist anxiety worse. Tried to find the balance. Failed at that, too. 

He led that damn charge. 

War's over. 

We won. 

They held a parade in their honor. Big heroes, all three of 'em- Grif, Simmons, Wash. Ah, rest of Blood Gulch's old inhabitants were celebrated, too. But it didn't mean the same thing. 

A strangled sound came out as Sarge finally broke, putting one hand over his face. He clutched his glass of whiskey hard enough his knuckles whitened, and then the glass shattered, splintering into his hand, alcohol coating the fresh lacerations, burning, _burning-_ not half as painful as the ache in his chest. 

Grif and Simmons never made it to the ice cream social. 

And Sarge crumbled outside under that old familiar moon and wished to God it had been him that made the big sacrifice- because, more than anyone, Grif and Simmons _deserved_ the ice cream social. 

Sarge would never be Red Team leader again. 

Not just because war was over, or because he was old enough he had to retire- but because there was no point leading a team. No team would be better than the one he'd had. Than the last team he'd ever let down. 

_War's over. We won._

Didn't feel like much of a victory in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry.
> 
> Also! If you enjoyed this (as much as one can enjoy an angst fic), you should definitely check out "The Days Go By" by lorb. Similar premise and at least twice as painful, good gri(e)f. We ended up writing almost the same thing the same night in a weird twist, so, twice the pain!


End file.
